


dear lord when i get to heaven, please let me bring my man

by sidnihoudini



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-31
Updated: 2015-08-31
Packaged: 2018-04-18 11:28:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4704461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sidnihoudini/pseuds/sidnihoudini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are a lot of things that Brian is no longer interested in.  The list includes, but is not limited to: $5000 state of the art liquid televisions, auto erotic asphyxiation, dating, dancing, phone sex, Skype sex, long distance relationships, and poppers.  He also maintains a certain disdain for the current climate of the real estate market, and the entire Jenner family.  Kim and Kanye, however, he likes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dear lord when i get to heaven, please let me bring my man

**Author's Note:**

> This is the start of something I don't think I'll ever finish, but you never know!

_Oh that grace, oh that body,_  
_Oh that face makes me wanna party,_  
_He's my sun, he makes me shine like diamonds._

*

There are a lot of things that Brian is no longer interested in.

The list includes, but is not limited to: $5000 state of the art liquid televisions, auto erotic asphyxiation, dating, dancing, phone sex, Skype sex, long distance relationships, and poppers. He also maintains a certain disdain for the current climate of the real estate market, and the entire Jenner family. Kim and Kanye, however, he likes.

“If I don’t have the Garrison proofs on my desk in approximately three and a half minutes, everyone is fired,” He intones, letting his finger slide off of the phone’s conference button.

Other things, he thinks, will never change.

Settling back into his leather chair, he rests one elbow on the arm and rests his chin on his knuckles. His other arm is stretched out, palm curved over his computer mouse, fingers hovering over the buttons. He’s been lurking on Expedia for going an hour. It’s possible that he’s the only person in the building _not_ working at this current juncture in time, but that’s also why he’s the boss.

“Stella emailed you the Garrison campaign twenty minutes ago,” Cynthia greets, barging into his office.

Brian quickly clicks to another tab and offers a tight smirk in her direction as he says, “Until you can figure out how to get an email into my hand, I don’t give a fuck.”

“Here,” She sighs, handing over a folder of glossy proofs that are still warm.

He accepts them easily, leaning back in his chair once more as he crosses his legs, letting his ankle rest over his opposite knee.

“These are…” Brian trails off and flips from the first proof to the second. He frowns, flipping one the right way up, and arches one eyebrow, surprised, “Not bad, actually.”

Cynthia frowns a smile at him, and says, “I’m surprised you can make them out through that grey rain cloud you’ve got following you around.”

“The grey cloud is made out of black AmEx cards and bags and bags of expensive weed,” Brian answers her easily, raising his eyebrows as he glances up at her face and tries not to look affected. Because she doesn’t look convinced, he adds, “I’m fine.”

She frowns at him, just a quick press of the lips before she’s back on her feet, and moving towards the door. This whole 2015 career woman thing has been working for her, even if she is in her late thirties, Brian thinks. The fact that he’s known Cynthia since she was a fresh faced business graduate still makes him more uncomfortable than he’d be willing to admit. She’s known him for a long time, longer than he would probably care to think about.

“Promise me one thing,” She asks, as she reaches behind herself for the door knob. Brian rolls his eyes and goes back to thumbing through the proofs; he doesn’t have time for any of this feelings bullshit. “If you’re going to sleep in your office again, let me know. You scared the cleaning ladies last night.”

Brian offers her a tight smile and says, “Get the fuck out,” as she laughs and lets the door click closed behind her.

~

Cynthia’s worry is not exactly misplaced, which sickens him a bit more than he would care to admit.

In approximately three weeks, Brian will be forty four years old.

Forty-four marks a lot of things on the board of life; namely, it cements the fact that deathday cakes are no longer considered light birthday fare, and it reminds him that his first AARP discount is right around the corner. The big four-four is also home to the ten year anniversary of Babylon being reduced to rubble, and the one and only time he has ever set foot in a grooms tuxedo.

But more than that - maybe most palpably - it’s been ten years since his family splintered in a way that Brian couldn’t put back together. Ten years ago this year he lost Lindsay and Gus to Ontario of all the fucking places in the world, Mikey to the suburbs, and Justin to New York.

He sees Lindsay and Gus on Skype regularly, and Mikey invites him to Sunday night dinner every week, even though Brian turns the invitation down like clockwork. Justin, well, Justin has… not been such an open and close story. It turns out that it hadn’t been “just time,” in fact, it had been a lot of things - overbooked flights, overworked Kinnetik clients, stalled art careers, and, well, sour grapes on both parts despite the best intentions to keep it sweet.

Perhaps the most upsetting news, however, is that for the last decade, Ted has been Brian’s closest confidante in Pittsburgh. 

And if _that_ wasn’t wildly depressing, nothing was.

~

Emmett is a hockey wife now. It’s the source of much amusement in Brian’s life. 

He spends half of the year sitting rink side, wearing expensive down jackets and gossiping with the other blonde wives, and the other half of the year party planning. Most importantly, Brian gets free Penguins tickets out of the union. It’s all a boy could ask for, and to date, he’s nailed four players, most of them with all of their original teeth.

There could have been a fifth - a lost opportunity at Emmett’s wedding - but then Justin had walked in, a ray of slightly older sunshine, and Brian had, of course, immediately found himself indisposed.

Emmett’s reception had, unsurprisingly, been beautiful - even though Brian would never actually admit that. He and Justin fucked in the bathrooms like they were kids again, fucking in the backroom at Babylon. Brian practically had flashbacks as he wrapped his fingers around Justin’s wrists and pinned them to the faintly pinstriped country club bathroom wall.

It had been the last time they’d had sex; and, a month and a half later, Justin turned up with a new relationship status on Facebook.

That had not been the greatest day for any particular Kinnetik employee. Brian vaguely remembers throwing a fresh mug of coffee against the art department floor, and almost strangling Ted after a particularly misplaced joke. Ted forgave him, the art interns did not.

But, more importantly, it’s been going on two years since that particularly fine day. Justin’s Facebook status has not been updated since.

~

Brian gets home, loudly tossing his key ring and wallet onto the front hall table.

The cleaning lady has come and gone, Brian can tell because the empty booze bottles have been cleared out of the front sitting room, and his work space has been tidied up. It’s a big house; he pays her for all five bedrooms, even though he really only lives out of the front room and kitchen. 

Some days he thinks it would be more financially responsible to find another loft; other days, he can’t bring himself to let go of the wood paneled walls and grand fireplace. Everything is still soaked in the promises he made, but after all these years, he still can’t bring himself to pull the trigger.


End file.
